


Reservoir Dogs

by evilsexdemon



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fantasizing, M/M, Making Out, Praise Kink, Reservoir Dogs - Freeform, it'll make sense when you read it, this is really horny im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilsexdemon/pseuds/evilsexdemon
Summary: 'So here they were, waiting for an escape van, Hox bleeding out and asking him to hold him. It was like he planned it, the bastard. Like he did it all on purpose. Like he knew what this was doing to Wolf.'Wolf loves movies but he loves Hoxton more.





	Reservoir Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory 'English is not my first language so sorry about that' note. Also, I hope you enjoy.

Hoxton got shot. Hoxton got shot in the stomach when he wasn't looking. Idiot only wore a thin bulletproof vest and of course he thought getting hit point blank in the stomach with a shotgun was a fucking great idea. 

Wolf helped him up and helped him limp to a corner where a fence met a wall and sat him down there, trying to ignore the way he winced and groaned at every step. Hoxton seemed more annoyed than anything, brushing stray strands of hair from his face and checking the time on that stupid fucking flip phone of his. He looked up at him, an absolutely pathetic little smile, and Wolf felt like punching him straight in the jaw. 

He didn't.

"Are you mad at me, Wolfie?" Hoxton asked, and gave his attention back to the flip phone. He'd done, what, two years in prison? Three? and now he felt like he couldn't possibly catch up with modern technology. Everything had to be written down, pinned on a big cork board and stared at for hours on end. And, of course, the flip phone. It didn't even have a keyboard. It had a number pad. And he was using it to text someone, Twitch, maybe, to tell whoever the fuck that he was hit and needed to get back to the safehouse. Someone would have to patch him up, and Wolf already knew he would be the one digging shrapnel out of his skin, holding out his other hand in case Hox wanted to squeeze it as hard as he could. 

"They're not paying attention to us." Wolf said, avoiding the question. The cops were going after Chains and Dallas, who were busy getting the last bit of loot to the escape van. They wouldn't be able to make it, Hoxton and Wolf, if he had to carry Hox through the middle of the crossfire. Nah, better wait here ‘till someone came to pick them up. The idea of leaving Hox behind didn't even cross his mind, and if it would've, all he’d have to think back would be ‘not again’ to chase it away. 

“‘Course they're not. C’mon, sit with me.” Hoxton patted the concrete floor next to him, and when Wolf didn't immediately do as he said, gave him an annoyed look. “I’m dying. The fuck are you waiting for.” 

Wolf held his hands up sarcastically and sat down, ignoring the noise his slacks made against the rough concrete. It was a bad sound, an annoying one, and he'd cover his ears with his hands were he in any other situation. Hoxton leaned into him and closed his eyes. 

“You’re not dying. You're complaining.” Wolf said, voice low. Hoxton exhaled through his nose. “S’pose so. Thought I’d make it a bit Reservoir Dogs. Remember when we watched that one?” 

Wolf did remember. He’d already seen it a few times before, but it’d been a boring, hot evening and Hoxton had trailed into the safehouse living room wearing bright red short shorts and a bored expression on his face. Wolf had sat back on the couch, dress shirt and pants on, tie undone, because as hot as it was, he really didn’t like wearing anything else. Hox’d bent down in front of him, completely blocking Wolf’s view of Extreme Home Makeover, before holding up the Reservoir Dogs DVD he’d found in the little cupboard below the TV. The orange sun filtered through the safehouse windows and Hox was fucking flaunting himself, and it didn't even look like he was working very hard at it. He read the back of the DVD when Wolf didn't immediately respond, and while he did he tapped the floor restlessly with his foot, showing off how far he could stretch those legs. 

“You wanna watch that one?” Wolf asked, and Hoxton shrugged, kneeling down to put it in the DVD player. “I’m fuckin’ bored. ‘S better than nothing.” 

“You’ve seen it before?” Wolf asked while Hoxton joined him on the couch and handed him the remote. Crazy how he gave Wolf control over that so easily, without even thinking about it. He just did it. Made Wolf feel something possessive towards him. He pressed the menu button on the controller and put on English subtitles before pressing start. “Nah, never seen it. But it's a classic, right? You like this one?” 

Wolf nodded, and as the movie started Hoxton sat progressively closer to him, to the point where Wolf could feel the heat radiating off his body. It was getting hot in here, but he really didn't like wearing clothes that weren't a suit. He didn't even remember a time before all this, before he suited up, nothing but vague memories of underground offices with miles of cable running through bundles on the floor. If he could have anything he wanted, he’d never take his mask off, either. There was something painfully safe about wearing a mask. Something that made him think he should feel ashamed about it. Like it was wrong to pretend to be someone he wasn't. But by now, the mask was probably a better representation of his personality than his face. 

Hoxton didn't seem to give a shit about that, though, watching the movie with tired eyes, knees pulled up to his chest, shoulder almost touching Wolf. He sighed, looking at the pool of blood surrounding Mr. Orange, and the way Mr. White was holding his hand, yelling at him. He bit his lip just a little, almost imperceptibly, but Wolf noticed. He pulled Hoxton towards him, hooking his arm around his chest. Hoxton closed his eyes and breathed out softly before looking back up at the movie. They didn't talk about it. 

By the end, where a very broken Freddy Newandyke confessed he was a cop, Hox’s eyes were glued to the screen. When it ended, and the credits played, he sat with his mouth open before looking at Wolf. “That was it? That was fucking it?”

“Pretty good, huh?” Wolf said, a bit too pleased that Hox liked a movie from his collection. Hox’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “I mean, yeah, but, shit! They died! And when he-” 

Hoxton crossed his legs, pulling himself free from Wolf’s grasp, which was a shame, because Wolf had taken to rubbing the elastic waistband of his shorts between his thumb and pointer finger. It shouldn't have been such a thrill, especially since they were high-waisted. Hoxton was fucking teasing him, too, walking around like that, barefoot with shorts and a t-shirt, hair up in a ponytail. Wolf wished he could pull down those little shorts and grab Hoxton’s ass. He bet that the guy wouldn't even complain, instead making a little surprised noise before pressing up against his hand, sticking out his ass as far as he could. Fucking.. presenting himself. 

But that wasn't happening, and in front of him Hoxton was instead wildly gesturing about how frustrating this movie was to him. “Like- the uh, Mr. Orange asked him to hold him? And he fucking did it! And they fuckin’ laid there and then the cops came and-” 

Wolf wasn't even paying attention, instead focusing on the way Hox was bouncing in his seat while he wildly gestured about how unfair it was of the director to end the movie on such a cliffhanger. Up and down and up and fucking down, like he was bouncing on someone’s dick. Wolf was so close to growling, actual out-loud growling as he imagined ripping those shorts open at the back and fucking him long and deep with his face pressed into the couch cushions. 

Hoxton would take it like a fuckin’ champ, too, moaning and begging for more. Wolf would be rough with him, but not too rough- trying to push at all his limits, seeing what made him tick. Hox was probably the kind of guy to get hard without even being touched, and Wolf would take advantage of that, kissing him soft and deep and playing with his nipples ‘till Hoxton, usually full of bravado, was reduced to nothing but a moaning mess. 

He’d love it, Wolf would make sure of it. The guy was probably extremely touch-starved, courtesy of a combination of prison time and deep seated trauma. He’d caught it happening before- when Dallas, a pretty touchy-feely guy, once patted Hoxton's shoulder after a heist well executed, everyone in the room noticed how much he instinctively leaned into it. It was almost pathetic, but in the best way possible. Made Wolf want to hold him so tight it hurt him. But he’d take it. Because he’d take anything. 

Point was, Hoxton remembered that day a few months ago as a lazy day where he and his best friend watched a movie together. Wolf remembered it as the day he lost the ability to think about Reservoir Dogs without associating it with sex. At one point he’d even entered the safehouse, seen the DVD lying on the couch and spontaneously got a hard-on. Working with Hox was starting to become harder as well, no pun intended, because whenever they’d as much as look at each other Wolf would feel like dropping everything and holding Hoxton in his arms and kissing and touching him everywhere.

So here they were, waiting for an escape van, Hox bleeding out and asking him to hold him. It was like he planned it, the bastard. Like he did it all on purpose. Like he knew what this was doing to Wolf. 

Wolf moved his head to look at Hoxton, who was sitting against him, leaning his head on Wolf’s shoulder. The blood from his shotgun wound was dripping out from under his hot pink bulletproof vest and onto his trousers. It was sick, Wolf thought, that his friend was in mortal danger and all he could do was feel mad. But he was totally doing it on purpose! And if he wasn't, well, it was too damn similar. Hoxton couldn't possibly blame him for what he was about to do. 

“I remember.” Wolf said, wrapping his arm around his colleague as he’d done that day they sat on the couch together. “You were wearing those red shorts.” 

Hoxton snorted. “You remember that?” 

He said it softly, probably too wrapped up in the fact someone was touching him. See, touch starved. Wolf smiled, and started moving the hand at the side of Hoxton's chest, just gently up and down. “Yeah. And you were so excited, jumpin’ up and down about Mr. Orange and Mr. White. It was adorable.” 

“Oh?” Hoxton squeaked. The guy was probably losing a lot of blood right now. From here Wolf could see the flip phone still clutched in Hoxton's hand. No new messages. Twitch usually sent one if he was a few minutes away, so they could get ready. Wolf should stop- his friend was gonna pass out, and someone had to look out for cops, but… he didn’t want to. He was right where he wanted to be, using his other hand to trail from Hoxton’s knee up to his inner thigh and back down again. “Yeah.” 

“So pretty.” Wolf murmured, pinching what little meat Hoxton had on his inner thigh between his thumb and pointer finger. Hox shuddered a bit, and Wolf crowded around him even tighter. He shouldn't be cold. Should be comfortable. “Such a pretty boy.” 

When he looked at his hand, it was covered in blood. Hox’s eyes were clenched shut, and the hand in which he held the flip phone was shaking. Still no messages. Thankfully. Maybe it was a bad thing, because the quicker Twitch or whoever came the better, but on the other hand, Wolf was eyeing Hoxton's jawline and he felt like biting into it, leaving big red marks that would make people wonder if he’d gotten shrapnel stuck in his face as well. So he kissed him, along his jawline and down to his neck, not even leaving marks yet, just tasting. Hox arched his back and then immediately hunched back over in pain. “Y’r hurting me a bit, Wolfie.” 

Wolf stopped his attack temporarily to tilt his head in confusion. “You don't like it?” 

“‘Course I do, you prick.” Hoxton said, and the moment he did Wolf started kissing his neck again, this time just a bit softer, to show Hox that he wasn't all bad. “It's just- I don't fucking want to die. And, besides.. this never happened in Reservoir Dogs.” 

He said that last part with a slight grin. His speech was starting to slur. In the movies they always said to keep someone who had been shot awake, because if they passed out they wouldn't wake back up again. Wolf tilted Hoxton's face towards his and pressed their foreheads together, their breath mingling. He could be a distraction. “Do you really think that? Do you really believe those two didn't go back to Orange’s place after those meetings with Joe and.. fuckin’... explored each other's body all over?” 

Hoxton exhaled shakily. Wolf tilted his chin up and kissed him, almost on his mouth but not fully. Hox wasn't the only one that could be a cocktease. “Yeah, they did. After those meetings they'd be all hot ‘n bothered, seein’ each other in those tight suits, so they snuck off together. Quickie in the men's room. Maybe White would let Orange blow him, if he'd been good. That sorta stuff.” 

“Hey. Hold up.” Hox said against his lips all sweet and soft. “In this.. scenario.. I’m Mr. Orange, cos I got shot ‘n all.” 

“Mhmm.” Wolf rumbled, hand now reaching under his jacket, trailing up the side of Hoxton's thin chest with his hand flat. The other hand was around his neck, not squeezing but still there regardless. A reminder that this was all his. Hox looked up at him, but his eyes didn't focus. “Does that mean you want me to blow you?” 

Wolf laughed, and kissed him again, biting his lower lip. “If you’ve been good, yeah. If you’ve been a good boy.”

He wanted so desperately to open the bulletproof vest and see that beautiful boy all over, but it was probably the only thing holding his organs from spilling out by now. Hox started to cough, and his chest heaved as he did so. Wolf held him throughout it. The flip phone had fallen on the ground, but it couldn't be too long ‘till someone showed up now. Hoxton buried his face in Wolf’s chest, and Wolf wrapped his arms around him. “Have I?” 

It was soft, barely audible above the sound of tires screeching on asphalt. Someone got out of the car and walked towards them. Wolf tilted Hoxton's head up once more, and kissed him again, ignoring the coppery taste. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I have no excuse for writing this
> 
> also pls send more requests im gay


End file.
